


when your ex gives you a curse, have kinky curse sex i guess

by pocketbat



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Consensual Kink, Established Relationship, Gore, Guro, Masochism, Nonbinary Character, Other, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sadism, lovey-dovey hard kink, wound fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 19:38:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13173804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketbat/pseuds/pocketbat
Summary: You've been thinking about this since the beginning, or near enough--since Julian healed your vampire eel bite, then coyly admitted to being a masochist and let you press on the wound in that hidden, overgrown garden. That night has featured in your dreams ever since. But it takes a little bit of liquid courage to get you to bring it up... which is why you lean over to Julian, perched on a barstool next to you at the Rowdy Raven, and whisper:"We should use your curse in bed, don't you think?"Julian chokes on his beer.





	when your ex gives you a curse, have kinky curse sex i guess

**Author's Note:**

> **This is an extremely explicit and bloody consensual gore fic.** If you don't want to read about the apprentice playing in a thrilled Julian's guts, please hit the back button now. There is also a brief description of **non-self-harm self-cutting** , so read with caution.
> 
>  
> 
> I use my own apprentice, Vush, in my Arcana fic, but you're welcome to copy & paste this into a Word doc or something and then find & replace "Vush" with a name of your choice.
> 
> Vush is nonbinary, and my Arcana fic is written with that in mind. Sometimes I write them with a dick, sometimes I write them with a vulva, and sometimes I leave their genitals unspecified. This fic features AFAB Vush. Vush is a sadist (with masochistic tendencies) and a top. I write their interactions with Julian "Huge Friggin' Masochist/ Sub" Devorak accordingly, so their characterization may not match all apprentices.

  
You've been thinking about this since the beginning, or near enough--since Julian healed your vampire eel bite, then coyly admitted to being a masochist and let you press on the wound in that hidden, overgrown garden. That night has featured in your dreams ever since. But it takes a little bit of liquid courage to get you to bring it up... which is why you lean over to Julian, perched on a barstool next to you at the Rowdy Raven, and whisper:  
  
"We should use your curse in bed, don't you think?"  
  
Julian chokes on his beer. The barkeep glances over at him as he wipes amber drops off his face, rapidly turning red.  
  
"Vush!" he hisses.  
  
You wince. "Sorry, should have waited until your mouth was empty." You wiggle your eyebrows at him, tipsily confident. "Well, what do you say?"  
  
Julian leans toward you, puts his lips to your ear, and mutters, "Let's talk about that someplace that's not, um, quite so public. It's--wow. Quite the idea."  
  
  
~~~~  

  
  
You talk about it the next day, once you've both sobered up. Julian really only has one qualm: If you're using his curse, _you'll_ have to bear any wounds first so that he can absorb them.  
  
"But I don't want you to get hurt," he says, frowning. "I don't--I don't want bad things to happen to you, Vush."  
  
He's a sweet boy. You reach up and pat his cheek.  
  
"It's all right, Julian," you assure him. "You're a doctor; you'll make it as safe and comfortable as possible. And then you'll take all the pain away, you'll get me all fixed up. And then _you'll_ hurt." Your smile feels as crooked and devious as his usually is.  
  
"Well," he says, wavering, "since you'd only suffer for a minute.... perhaps if I made it as fast as I could, and I know you'd be perfectly safe..."  
  
"I want you to hurt," you remind him, voice dropping, purring, leering. "I want to hurt you so, _so_ badly--I love how much you get off on it. I want to make you feel good, I want you to suffer and enjoy every second--"  
  
"Vush," he says pleadingly. His face is turning red before your eyes, his eye is wide and startled. "When you say things like that, I--I-- goodness."  
  
"I want you to take a wound on purpose, because I _asked_ you to, and because you _wanted_ to," you growl. You can't seem to stop; you realize you're every bit as desperate for this as Julian is. "I'm going to cast a silencing ward on this room and you're going to scream your lungs out--"  
  
He bites his lip, suppressing a noise, and you feel heat flood up through your gut. "C-consider me convinced, dear Vush. But you know I won't be able to anesthetize you beforehand, if you're to be in condition to ravage me afterwards. If I cut you open, you'll have to feel it, and, ah..."  
  
"I don't like pain as much as you do," you say, "but I do like it more than average. If I find that I need to stop, either while you're cutting me or afterward, I'll tell you. Or if you're put off by seeing me in pain, we can stop too."  
  
"Perhaps we can start small," he suggests. "You're a braver soul than I, Vush. I don't think I can inflict a large wound on you in cold blood." He shudders at the idea, and not for the first time, you think, _I really cannot imagine this man burning the Count to death._  
  
"That's a good plan," you say. "We should start small and work our way up. That's not only practical--it sounds like fun."

  
  
~~~~

  
  
You practice with small cuts. First, you slice your own forearm and thigh with your freshly sharpened, sterilized pocket knife and let him take the thin red lines away. Then it's Julian's turn to hold the knife. When he sees how fiercely you kiss him afterward, your blood heated by the sting of the cuts, he relaxes. He scores patterns in your flesh, then absorbs them, and you paint your name on his fair skin in his blood, slap the cuts with your palm or the back of your hairbrush while he bites his lip and flushes with pleasure. You promise him filthy things for the future, dangerous delights that he's quick to tell you he's fantasized about for years.  
  
Preparing for what you jokingly refer to as "surgery, wink wink" turns out to be a lot of fun.

  
  
~~~~

  
  
Today is the day--you've had enough practice taking pain, and Julian is finally comfortable with inflicting and then removing it. Asra is traveling today, and you've made him swear not to come home until nightfall for any reason, on pain of pain--the shop is all yours.  
  
You've carefully prepared the bedroom, laying down tarps on the floors and on the low bed, which you've padded with old sheets and rags to make a comfy surface. Julian has laid out medical implements on a tray on the bedside table: gleaming scalpels, bandages that you won't need, some other tools that you don't know the names of, a jug of water and two glasses, a few bottles. Did he put out poppy milk after all? Bless his heart, you're not going to need that. (You hope.)    
  
The final, crucial step is the silencing ward. Julian, naked except for his gloves, sits on the bed and watches you cast it. Or possibly he's watching your bare ass, if the crooked smile on his face is anything to go by. The only thing you have on is a binding cloth which was due for the burn pile anyway.  
  
You complete your circuit of the room and draw the final sealing symbol in the air at the east corner. It flashes as you finish it--the four walls briefly glow gold, then dim back to white plaster.  
  
"There," you say, turning back to Julian. "That ward should last for about an hour, so we'd better get all the shrieking done by then."  
  
His grin broadens. "Your wish is my command, dear Vush." He pats the bed next to him. "Come on up, let me prepare you for your, ah, procedure."  
  
You climb onto the bed and stretch out. The worn sheets are buttery-soft under your naked body; the tarp underneath crinkles as you shift.  
  
"Is this a good spot?" you ask.  
  
"Yes, perfect," Julian says. He gets up to get his equipment--you pat his butt as he does, and he turns to shoot you an adoring, heavy-lidded look.  
  
The tools on the tray clink as Julian rifles through them--you hear the distinctive _snap_ of soft, elastic glove leather pulled back and released, and you laugh.  
  
"Now, this will be a little chilly," Julian tells you, turning back with a soft, damp cloth in hand.  
  
He bends to briefly kiss you, then wipes your abdomen down with distilled spirits. As promised, the evaporating alcohol leaves a cool streak on your skin, giving you goosebumps. He puts the cloth back, shucks one glove and picks up a scalpel.  
  
"Mx. Patient, are you ready?" he says, flourishing as if he's got his coat on.  
  
You wiggle your eyebrows at him. "Ooh, Doctor," you chuckle. "I'm at your disposal."  
  
"Do you feel up to what we planned?" he asks, brow pinching. "I can do a smaller cut--we don't have to go all the way today."  
  
Your stomach churns at the anticipation of the agony, but you're ready--or at least you're pretty sure that you're ready.  
  
"Let's do it," you say. "I promise I'll tell you if I need you to stop early. You've got to do the same, all right? In case _you_ find it too overwhelming."  
  
Julian nods. "Yes, Vush. I swear I'll stop if I need to."  
  
"Good boy," you say, the praise falling easily, tenderly from your lips. He blushes--he still blushes when you praise him, which is just about the cutest thing you could imagine. "Have at it, then."  
  
He gestures you a little closer to the end of the bed, looming over you, pink and excited.  
  
"Very well, I'll begin the procedure," he says, theatrical as ever.  
  
"Doctor, I need your help," you giggle. Your nerves are making you babble. "I'm dying of, uh, _erectus terribilis_ \--"  
  
He cocks a brow. "Ah, yes, the fearsome terrible erection? I think you mean _priaprism terribilus_ , for which there is only one cure. Now, this will only hurt for a minute," he assures you. He sounds eager; his lips curve up into an irrepressible smile that you can't help but return.  
  
He flips the scalpel around deftly in his ungloved hand--showing off, bless him. Then he poises it barely an inch from your skin, right below your breastbone and the edge of your chest wrap. His free hand seeks yours; you clasp hands with him, grateful for the reassuring pressure. It will be difficult to bear this, but it's more than worth it for the fun you're about to have together.  
  
"I'm going to make an incision here, starting below your sternum," he murmurs. "It will extend down to just above your pubic bone, here." He gestures gingerly with the scalpel. "That way, when I take it from you, you'll have my whole abdominal cavity to play in. Loads of fun." He grins, coloring at the thought.  
  
"Sounds good," you tell him.  
  
"It will hurt quite a lot," he says ruefully. "Much more than our practice cuts, and that's not your idea of a good time, is it? I'm so sorry in advance--I really will try to heal you immediately. Lie back, my dear."  
  
He rests his gloved left hand on your chest, pressing you down firmly, then touches the tip of the blade to your body. "Ready?"  
  
"Yes," you say, breathless.  
  
"Breathe in," he instructs, gently (and there may be more than a little bit of the sadist in your precious boy if his avid, tender expression is anything to go by).  
  
You inhale deeply, filling up your lungs, ribs rising. The sharp point of the scalpel dimples your flesh, on the point of breaking skin.  
  
"And--out," Julian murmurs. You exhale, heart pounding, and he moves.  
  
Human skin puts up more resistance to being cut than you had originally expected, partly because it's thicker than you had imagined it to be, even with such a sharp blade. You feel the now-familiar tug and weird _crunch_ as the scalpel bites through your skin. Deftly, confidently, Julian keeps pressing the blade down as the first white-hot flare of pain blooms; he draws it down, your flesh parting in its wake. Unlike the shallow cuts he's made, this one immediately begins to fill with a runnel of scarlet. The pain deepens, sharpens as he pierces through the layer of subcutaneous fat and hits--muscle, probably.  
  
"Keep breathing," Julian says, throaty, and you try to make your frozen lungs continue their exhale. You're excruciatingly aware that things that should be _inside_ are now exposed to the air, and you have to clamp down on the urge to struggle away. You clutch his left hand hard, feeling the bones grind together, but he doesn't seem to feel it at all. Utterly focused, he continues slicing down the center of your body.  
  
"Easy, easy," he murmurs, putting more of his weight on your chest. You hear yourself make a weird, raw noise as he cuts your belly open. It hurts, badly, but suppressing your panic response is much harder. Julian won't rush, though--he parts the sensitive skin of your stomach, uses a little extra force to get through your belly button--augh, gods, _that_ you can't sit still for, and he swings up over you to sit on your legs, throws a little more weight on your upper body.  
  
"Fuck," you choke.  
  
"Almost done," he soothes, and he glides the blade down the slope of your underbelly, halting right above your bush.  
  
"Fuck!" you say again as he withdraws the scalpel and drops it into a glass on the nightstand. Your blood is overflowing the borders of the wound--oh, it's deeper than it felt, you see--and beneath your screaming panic response the pain blazes up like a wildfire.  
  
"I've got you," Julian says, "it's all right, Vush." Eye gleaming hungrily, he presses his bare hand into your stomach, and the pain....evaporates. That strange lassitude spreads over you, relief washing coolly up your chest and down through your hips. The sudden cessation of pain has your nerves humming.  
  
You force your eyes to focus so that you can watch him take it up--you don't want to miss any of this.  
  
Julian's hands jerk, and he grunts softly. "O-oh," he says, eye glazing over. "Wow. There it goes--"  
  
This time, you can see the wound blossom on his bare torso; his skin parts under an invisible blade (his own blade, you suppose) and the blood wells up and runs down. Red on white. You can't look away.  
  
"Nnngh." He pulls his left glove off with his teeth, clearly unsteady, and tosses it away, then sits up to look down at himself. "Hah. I--ahaha. _Whoo."_  
  
"Gorgeous," you blurt, propping yourself up on your elbows. The incision gapes open a little, tempting you. The first rivulets of blood are running down to drip onto you, now. "Here, lie down so I can get my hands on you--"  
  
Shaking, clearly losing it, Julian drags himself up as you scoot aside, and flops down into your place. His pretty dick is filling out against his thigh; you watch it twitch, see him bite his lip.  
  
"Touch me," he gasps. You move to straddle his hips, and take a moment to admire your prey. He looks so good bleeding and suffering and--  
  
You swoop down to kiss him. Julian arches up under you, mouth opening easily, hot blood smearing between your bodies. He's all soft ardent tongue and parted lips, and when you work your hand in between your bellies and push your fingers into the gash, he screams into your mouth, muffled, and his arms go desperately around you.  
  
You've got to free his mouth, of course--you have to hear--so you sit back up and watch his face twist with agony as you dig your fingers deeper into his flesh.  
  
"Fuck, Vush--Vush-- _p-please..."_  
  
"Does it hurt?" you ask, grinning.  
  
"Yes," Julian gasps, eyelids fluttering. He's grabbing at your thighs, petting, kneading.  
  
"Is it good?" you ask, spreading your fingers wide to span more of the incision, relishing the feeling of his hot, raw flesh.  
  
"Y-yes, it's really--really good--please, please--" His hips roll involuntarily, and he releases one of your legs to dig into his stomach below your hand. "Vush, please-- do you think you can, can use the scalpel--"  
  
_"Ohhh,"_ you snarl. "Should I open you up more, then?"  
  
"Yes yes yes," he babbles. He trembles under you as you reach up and snatch the scalpel back out of the glass. You're no doctor, no torturer, no warrior, but it's still much easier than it should be to cut down his lovely torso again, deepening the wound. You can see-- raw striated meat and the shapes of well, organs, probably, veiled in membranes, before his blood wells up again and hides them.  
  
Julian sobs as you toss the scalpel back into the glass with a clink, smearing blood. "That feels--ohhh, oh, oh--"  
  
"Not too much?" you ask, just to be sure.  
  
"Amazing," he gasps. "Nnnn, f-fuck..." He plants his hands on his belly, spreading--Heat surges to your face as you realize he's holding the gash open for you. You take the invitation-- you press inside with both hands, widening it, shoving deeper, and he cries out raggedly.  
  
It reminds you in a very perverse way of fingering him, of the luscious wetness of eager girls you've curled your fingers into, and Julian's agonized, blissful expression does nothing to lessen the similarity. There's probably something more than a bit wrong with you for enjoying this so much--your cock aches, your stomach flips, your body is alight with your own arousal as it feeds on his.  
  
Julian isn't making the slightest effort to keep quiet, moaning and shuddering and crying out, squirming under you as you claw at his insides, ripping muscle fibre and other, less identifiable things apart with your blunt nails  Tears have started to streak his face, and he keeps pawing at himself--not touching his cock, but the wound.  
  
"More, please, Vush--please--fuck me," he wails, and with a dizzying rush of lust you realize he means--oh, gods. You press and pet at the inside of his body, stroking and touching shapes you don't recognize, buried in his heat.  
  
Julian whimpers, head rolling back. "Like that-- _y-yes, harder--"_  
  
His cock looks painfully hard, lying against the split in his belly. You entertain the idea of pressing down on it, dipping it into the incision, making him fuck himself, but you'd have to take your hands out of him to do it and you can't possibly make yourself do that, not when he's hurting so prettily, writhing in agony, begging you for more.  
  
You jab down hard, punch toward his spine, and his eye rolls back. He screams, and you let up and rasp, "How about that?"  
  
"Still good," he sobs, fingers desperately busy at the surface of the wound. There's something unspeakably filthy about the way he's playing with himself.  
  
"So greedy," you say, admiring, and you punch into him again. You throw more of your weight into it--it doesn't matter what kind of damage you do, because it's going to heal. "I can do whatever I want with you, can't I?"  
  
Julian nods, lips parted and trembling. "Anything--please, give it to me--"  
  
"You can't get enough of me inside you like this, can you?" you growl. "I can't believe how much this gets you off." You can't ignore your own cock much longer; you're so turned on it hurts. "You're so good, you're perfect like this--"  
  
"I wanna be good," he slurs, crying in earnest now. "I--I want to be good for you." His cock twitches, precome dripping from its flushed head. "Vush, Vush--"  
  
"My good boy," you purr, and you lean down to kiss him again. He can barely get it together enough to kiss back; he moans into your mouth and stays sloppily open, needy. You want suddenly and viciously to fill him up with your dick, give him something else to scream about. He's in the kind of agony that he probably has wet dreams about and it's still not enough for you. You need to--you have to--  
  
Julian grinds up underneath you and whimpers. His red hair is soaked with sweat, his body smeared with crimson.  
  
"You're a wreck," you tell him, seizing some appealingly firm shape inside his body and twisting, until he screams aloud. "You look so good--I want to _keep_ you like this--"  
  
"D-do it," he whispers tearily. "Please...please, I can't... I w-want--" You spread your legs a little further, arch your back, and grind down in turn. The sweet friction on his dick makes him moan, dirty and helpless; the pressure makes your breath hitch.  
  
"It's going to start healing soon," Julian manages. "Please, Vush--I _need_ to come--hurts so much and it's s-so good--I can't--"  
  
“Don’t touch your dick,” you grate. “Can you come just from this? The grinding, and me playing with your guts?”  
  
Julian nods, mouth open, soft and gleaming. The sight of his parted lips goes straight to your dick--you withdraw a hand from his belly and push two fingers into his mouth. He sucks them hungrily, licking off his own blood, painting his mouth red. You just have to kiss him after that, tasting salt and metal on his clever tongue.  
  
You lean back so that you can watch his wound widen and take your second hand back in, all fiery heat and luxurious blood-wetness; he manages a broken whine at the loss of your mouth. It quickly turns into a full-throated, ragged cry as you toy with his insides. You don't doubt that he can get off like this, and you can't _wait_ to see it.  
  
You fuck into the soft, melting-hot mess of his abdomen, the slippery velvety tongues and folds of organs, and god, you think you could fuck him like this always and only, helpless and spitted on your hands. He’s crying hard, ugly-crying with his face twisted up and red and rendered beautiful by his transcendent agony, begging you for more. He can’t seem to stop.  
  
It's a damn good thing you cast that silencing ward, because he's sobbing, _"Fuck me, that_ hurts, _Vush, pleaaaase---"_ in a voice like he's being murdered, shuddering convulsively and arching while you fist-fuck him back down over and over. He's making so much noise, he's so wet with blood and he's so needy and helpless--your perfect, precious, masochistic boy.  
  
Finally, he mews and shudders and gives it up, coming messily over his ruined belly.  
  
"Take it out," he pants immediately. "I-- I-- hhfff." He gives up on trying to make words and goes slack all over.  
  
You extract your hands from his abdomen with an obscene _slurp. T_ o your fascination, the wound starts to contract as soon as you're out. Julian's flesh knits itself back together--not all the way, not yet, but now it looks as though it's been healing for a week at least.  
  
"Wow," you breathe.  
  
He nods in agreement, still trying to catch his breath. Blissfully post-coital and covered in blood is an amazing look for him; you wish you could immortalize the sight, document it for all eternity. You reach out and swirl some of his come into the blood pooled on his belly, mixing translucent white and red.  
  
Julian reaches for you with unsteady hands and tugs you down on top of him. He entwines you with all four limbs and squeezes you with a soft rumble of contentment as his blood squishes hotly between you.  
  
You feel like you're about to burst with love and adoration and unsatisfied arousal. "Ilya," you say, "Ilya, you're incredible--give me a kiss, my good boy."  
  
He does, mouth tender and soft, purring like a very, very large cat.  
  
"Was I good?" he mumbles, nuzzling your face with his magnificent nose.  
  
"You were _so_ good," you tell him. He helpfully bends one leg, sliding it up between yours so that you can grind against his warm thigh. "Nnngh."  
  
"I'm a good boy," he mumbles, squirming encouragingly. "I'm your good boy--please, I want to get you off--"  
  
"Mine," you agree, rocking down against him. "All mine." His bloody, sticky hands creep up over your back, petting you, squeezing your ass warmly. "You're gonna make me come, you're going to lie there in your own blood and let me use you--"  
  
You're dripping all over him, rutting into the silky-slick mess on his thigh, and he looks so dazed  & vulnerable, so ruined and sweetly yielding-- this isn't going to take you long at all.  
  
"Use me," Julian breathes. He kneads your ass, hitches his hips up into your thrusts. "P-please use me."  
  
"That's a good boy," you gasp. You let your head drop onto his chest, and you grab furiously at his thigh, his hips, yanking him into position. He goes pliably, mewling when you claw at the rapidly-healing wound.  
  
"Want you to come," he whines. "I'm y-yours--"  
  
You bite at him, catching his flesh in your teeth, sucking, rutting harder and faster. You don't think you could manage words at this point, but your head is spinning with all the filthy things you want to tell him--how good it felt to push inside his whole body, how you could make any part of him into a needy hole that he'd _beg_ to have you fuck. How obedient and precious and dirty he is, what a darling, slutty, masochist he is, your good boy--  
  
You're shuddering, gasping for breath, trying to move your hips fast enough to keep pace with the screaming peak of your arousal. Julian knows you're close, knows what you need, and you hear him whimper with excitement.  
  
"Vush--" Oh, his voice is a wet, filthy shadow of its usual self, the needy boy-- "Vush, I _need_ it, I need it, come inside me-- need it, split me open, _please--"_  
  
It's always this, always this for you whether you're using one of your dicks or no, whether you're inside him or not. You growl like an animal and dig your teeth and nails in, shaking and pulsing, imagining yourself spilling inside Julian's pretty ass, filling his sloppy-wet, gorgeous hole.  
  
Everything goes away for a little bit. You come back to yourself sprawled across Julian's warm, solid body, stuck to him with come and drying blood.  
  
"I think my soul left my body," you mumble. "Ilya, precious boy, how are you?"  
  
"'m great," he slurs. "Amazing. Everything good."  
  
You wriggle up his chest with an effort--your limbs seem to have been replaced with sandbags--and kiss his face. _"You're_ good. My good boy. I love you."  
  
Julian's face is splotched with drying blood, but you've never seen him look more content. "Love you too," he says, with a minimum of jaw movement. You seem to have destroyed him a little; your heart swells.  
  
"Need some water?"  
  
"Mmhm."  
  
You glance over at the nightstand, at the heavy jug that you'll have to lift in order to pour him a glass. "Uh. Give me a sec. Can't move. Get you water in a sec."  
  
"Cuddle me first," Julian whines, and you've never been happier to fulfil one of his requests. You squeeze him tightly with your arms and legs.  
  
"All right. Cuddling now," you agree.  
  
"We've got to do this again," he says, nuzzling your hair.  
  
"Absolutely." You raise your head and look blearily around the room. It's... gory. "Though you might not say that once we get through with the clean-up. This is... a mess."  
  
"Worth it," Julian says, and you have to agree. 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is certainly A Way to break in my new Ao3 account. Whee.
> 
> I'd like to thank the Arcana devs for writing a love interest who seems to be explicitly tailored to my preferences. Like... goddamn. THANKS.


End file.
